


Confessions

by SideQuestPublications



Series: Shattered Dreams, Frozen Heart [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Deleted Scene, Gen, Lewis Snart's A+ Parenting, Mistaken Identity, Nightmares, OOC Is Serious Business, Panic Attack, Temporal Illness, Time Travel, eidetic memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideQuestPublications/pseuds/SideQuestPublications
Summary: Leonard Snart finds himself confessing some very old secrets to Sara Lance shortly after they first meet. In the process, they discover that he has secrets even from himself.Takes place during Legends of Tomorrow S1E1 Pilot.





	1. Annoyed Assassin

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Legends S1E1, shortly after the team, well, joins the team, and right before their first trip into history.  
> Assumes the Legends "top secret" episode 1 deleted scene is canon. Check out [Len and Sara's interaction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGALgnf68ZY) on none other than Caity Lotz' YouTube channel to see.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len tries to be friendly with Sara on their first day on the Waverider, but she's been forewarned about what sort of person he is, and she isn't buying it... Too late, she learns that he really _is_ just trying to be friendly (and why) and she must figure out how to make amends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: non-con discussed in Len's childhood. Because my imaginary muse thinks that being abused by his father wasn't screwed up enough. :(
> 
> OOC is Serious Business indeed. Len has reasons for confessing these things, but the fic won't get into that until it's told from his perspective. In addition, this is one of my "random" fics... tells a small part of what may be a larger story elsewhere, and as such doesn't necessarily go into detail on those larger elements.  
> Thought to be honest, the only reason I had him telling her on day one (well, technically day two or three seeing as they met Rip "36 hours" after the man originally abducted all of them) instead of later on when it would've made more sense to the character, is because I figured _something_ had to have happened between Sara and Len to go from the "staring at my ass" accusation in the deleted scene to Sara actually being friendly with him when they decide to go out for drinks.
> 
> Lewis' "friend" copyright me.  
> All others copyright DC, CW, etc.

"I consider myself to be a broad-minded individual, but this is a lot to take in," Leonard said.  
  
"And... why are you telling _me_ this?" Sara asked. For that matter, why was he even talking to her? He should be hovering around that arsonist, not pestering her.  
  
"You seem to be the only other person on this boat who isn't either a super-genius or a reincarnated freak-show," Leonard replied.  
  
"Actually, I was dead for a year," Sara said. She was almost curious what he'd make of _that_ revelation.  
  
Almost.  
  
"Hey, I'm just trying to make conversation," Leonard insisted.  
  
"Yeah, I could tell by the way you're staring at my ass." And carefully _not_ staring at it whenever he caught her looking in his direction.  
  
Sara walked away before he could try to talk his way out of that one, but it didn't take long before she heard his footsteps coming down the hallway she'd just exited. _Oh, god, is he_ still _following me?_ The Flash was right; the man just didn't know how to give up.  
  
But she wasn't going to run. Walk away, yes. But not run. There was simply no need. If Leonard couldn't take a hint... well, he would find out soon enough why he shouldn't mess around with a League assassin.  
  
She turned another corner, pressed a hand against what looked vaguely like a biometric door panel.... "Woah." She stepped inside the room and looked around, her annoyance with Leonard temporarily forgotten.  
  
She looked out the window and grinned. "Okay, this is cool."  
  
"Picking out curtains already?" Leonard asked from behind her.  
  
_Shit_. "Seriously, do I need to spell it out for you, Snart? _Why_ are you following me?" Sara turned around to glare at the thief.  
  
But he wasn't even looking at her. He seemed to find some random spot on the floor very fascinating. "I need to talk to you. In private."  
  
"Where's your partner?" Sara asked.  
  
Leonard's shoulders slumped. "I don't want him to hear this," he mumbled. He lifted his gaze from whatever spot was occupying his attention, but he didn't quite meet her eyes. "Please?"  
  
Sara frowned. _Please_? He was actually _asking_ her? She wasn't surprised he could be polite; according to her sources, the man could be any level of charming if he thought it would get him what he wanted. What surprised her was that he'd bother deferring to her so easily. What could he possibly want from her that he thought _that_ would help? Even if he really _did_ just want to talk....  
  
She folded her arms—though her hands never strayed far from a weapon, just in case this was some trick to make her drop her guard—and sat down on the bed. "Fine. You want to talk, so talk. But make it _quick_."  
  
Leonard nodded and stepped into the room just far enough to let the door close behind him. He eyed her warily before taking a deep breath. "I was just thinking... We _are_ going to be working together, whether we like it or not. So maybe it would be a good idea to get any... misunderstandings out of the way? Anything that might interfere with the job."  
  
"How about this, then?" Sara replied. "You leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone. As smart as you are, it should be hard to misunderstand _that_."  
  
"True. That's... that's very true." He took another deep breath. "But... I won't touch you, Sara. Not if you don't want me to," he said. "I just... I needed you to know that." He was smiling at her. Not his usual smirk, nor an attempt to charm her. No, this reminded her of the kind of smile her parents or Laurel had often used when something had scared her as a kid... usually when _they_ were scared and didn't want her to know.  
  
Sara snorted, faintly amused at his attempt to placate her. " _Right_. You're a thief, a liar, and a killer, and I'm supposed to believe you won't hurt me just because you _say_ you won't?"  
  
The smile faded. "I _won't_ ," he insisted. His voice wavered. "I would never... I know what it's like. How it feels. I don't want to make anyone feel like that."  
  
Okay, so maybe antagonizing the man wasn't going to work. Sara really didn't want to deal with him right now, but if he was trying to make a genuine effort to be, well... less of an ass— _at least until he gets what he wants from me_ , she reminded herself. She sighed. "I know your father abused you," she said. She tried to keep her tone gentle; no matter what kind of man he was now, _nobody_ deserved that kind of childhood. "And I'm not trying to belittle that. But do you honestly believe that that is _anything_ like how I feel?"  
  
"I wasn't talking about my father," Leonard said, so quietly Sara almost missed it. "I was talking about one of his... _friends_ from Iron Heights."  
  
He clenched his shaking hands into fists. Then he winced, unclenched them again, and examined the bloody marks he'd left on his palms, before he shoved his hands into his pockets.  
  
Sara waited for him to decide whether to keep talking or to leave.  
  
"I was... I was nine when the man caught me alone the first time," Leonard said. Keep talking it was. "When he showed me what he'd been in prison for." The smile returned, but it was bitter this time. "I don't suppose you'd care to guess what that was?"  
  
"Guess?" Sara's last shred of patience snapped. "You honestly want me to _guess_?" She pushed herself off the bed, and smirked when Leonard tried to back away... right into the wall. "I am _not interested_ in hearing your life story, Snart! But maybe _you'd_ care to guess what a pissed-off assassin will do if you don't _leave me alone_? Here's a hint: Rip had better find someone to replace you."  
  
Sara didn't normally like scaring people with the League. She didn't hate it, exactly; that fear was just a weapon, one of many tools they used to maintain power over others. And as with any tool, it wasn't something to enjoy or despise for its own sake.  
  
But seeing the way Leonard felt around for the door panel and fled the room, all without ever once taking his eyes off of her... _She_ might not like having that kind of power over anyone, but she could understand why some people would.  
  
People like his father, for instance. She grimaced, and wondered whether he'd believe her if she tried to apologize.  
  
"That conversation could have gone better," a voice said.  
  
"Yeah, I _should_ have thrown him out sooner." _Preferably before I threatened him_. Sara blinked. "Uh... hello? Who said that, and _how_ did you sneak up on me?"  
  
A light shined down from the ceiling in the middle of the room, resolving itself into a face. "I am Gideon, the Waverider's artificial consciousness."  
  
Sara paced the room, examining the face from every angle. "So that makes you.... what, the ship's computer?"  
  
"If you like," Gideon replied. "Navigator, database, and medic, to name a few of my primary functions. I'd been monitoring your brainwaves and Mr. Snart's to determine if there was risk to letting him alone with you."  
  
"So you could've warned me he was going to pull something like that." Sara groaned. "I can't _believe_ he thought it would be that easy to trick me into trusting him!"  
  
"I'm afraid I don't understand this aspect of human behavior," Gideon said. "Mr. Snart was speaking truthfully; was there something specifically untrustworthy about what he'd said?"  
  
"The fact that he's a liar comes to mind," Sara replied. "He... come again? _Truthfully_?"  
  
"Everything Mr. Snart just told you was true," Gideon explained. "Including his reasons for telling you. He finds you very attractive, Miss Lance, but he would never pursue that attraction unless he was absolutely certain of your consent."  
  
" _Attractive_?" Sara managed to say before she burst out laughing. "Is... is _that_ what he thought I was worried about? That he'd try to... to molest me? Okay, maybe I gave him that idea when I accused him of staring at my ass, but why didn't he just _say_ that?"  
  
"I believe he has little experience in reassuring people when his intentions are pure," Gideon replied. "And the topic seems to be very painful for him."  
  
"Painful," Sara repeated " _Right_. It would be _painful_ to say, don't worry about me trying to rape you, I know _exactly_ how... you..." Her eyes widened. "Feel," she finished in a whisper. She thought back, quickly reviewed everything Leonard had said, exactly how he'd said it.  
  
She suddenly felt very, very sick. No, he _couldn't_ have meant....  
  
"Gideon, was it?" she said. Her voice shook.  
  
"Yes, Miss Lance."  
  
"Do you... You said you were monitoring our brainwaves. Do you _know_ what Snart was trying to tell me?"  
  
"Not as such, no," Gideon replied. "My ability to monitor your brainwaves allows me to read your emotional state; reading specific thoughts requires a different process, usually reserved for medical concerns." A pause. "However, with the research Captain Hunter has done into the crew's timelines, I could make what you would call an educated guess."  
  
The pause this time went on for much longer.  
  
" _And_?" Sara finally said to break the silence.  
  
"I'm afraid you'll need Captain Hunter's authorization to access the relevant data," Gideon replied.  
  
"Okay, fine," Sara grumbled. "This is me, getting _Captain_ Hunter's authorization."

—CONFESSIONS—

The rest of the recruits were still exploring the Waverider when Sara found Rip on the bridge. Well, the rest minus Jefferson; the poor kid was still out from whatever drug Martin had given him, and was strapped in securely.  
  
"Gideon's already informed me of how your conversation with Mr. Snart went," Rip said without even turning around. "I'm afraid the crew's timelines are strictly on a need-to-know basis."  
  
"And you're saying I don't need to know," Sara guessed. "Even though _Snart_ obviously thought I did."  
  
"I'm _saying_ that unless Mr. Snart discloses that information to you directly, it is _none of your bloody business_." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Lance. If we ever find ourselves facing his personal demons, I will certainly tell the team everything, if only to improve our chances of survival. But until then, it simply isn't my place to tell you. Nor even my place to know it, come to think of it. That will have to be his decision, and his alone."  
  
"Oh, damn," Sara groaned. "I really _will_ have to apologize to him, won't I?"  
  
"I suppose that depends on how smoothly you'd like the mission to go," Rip said. "I rather suspect Mr. Snart's effectiveness will be somewhat limited, so long as he thinks the League will be out for his head for even talking to you." He glanced up and smiled to take some of the sting away from the rebuke. "If it's any consolation, Miss Lance, I fully expected Mr. Snart or Mr. Rory to be the first to owe the crew any apologies. Not that I expected them to _give_ any, of course...."  
  
"Oh, yes. _Very_ consoling." Sara rolled her eyes. "The sooner I get this over with, the sooner we can pretend we're on the same team, right? Or do I need to give him time...?"  
  
"I think you'll find Mr. Snart rather adept at quick recoveries," Rip said. "Though I must caution you, he _will_ see through it if you're only 'pretending' to apologize. And you'll want to keep an eye out for Mr. Rory; I don't believe 'forgiveness' is in that one's vocabulary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we find out why Len thought it was so important to tell Sara these things on their first day on the Waverider.


	2. Rattled Robber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leonard Snart does not recover anywhere near as quickly as Rip Hunter expected... and we start to learn more of his secrets, and why he thought it was so important to confide in someone he had only just met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: non-con discussed in Len's childhood. Because my imaginary muse thinks that being abused by his father wasn't screwed up enough. :(

"Would you sit down, Len?" Mick grumbled. "Just watching you is making me dizzy."  
  
Leonard ignored the other man's complaints and continued to pace. He tested every step, examined and re-examined every inch of the small room, for anything that might suggest an opening, a hiding place... He rattled the window for the fifth time, but it still didn't open.  
  
_Damn it!_ Why did he have to go looking for Mick? He should've just gotten off the ship, but instead he'd decided to trap himself in a room with only the single exit. If Sara came after him in here....  
  
Leonard shivered. He had ignored every warning she'd given him, every warning his _instincts_ had given him, to talk to her. All so he could placate her, make her think that he wasn't worth the League's interest.  
  
And he'd completely screwed it up.  
  
"Len...."  
  
And that part from when he was nine... why the hell had he thought _that_ would convince her? Especially since he still couldn't make himself say what that monster had done.  
  
No, he knew _exactly_ why he'd tried to tell her. He'd felt it the moment he'd set foot on the ship... some drug, perhaps, or hypnosis, or even lingering traces of whatever Rip had done when the man had abducted all of them two nights ago. There was this odd sensation that something had rummaged through his head, like a thief tearing his house apart, something that was either too ignorant or too arrogant to put anything back where it belonged. That feeling of being violated was one of the reasons he usually stuck to robbing faceless entities like banks and museums; even on his worst days he would never have let his own crew be _that_ sloppy.  
  
Whatever it was, it had left him confused. Disoriented. Some way to make sure the deadlier members of the crew wouldn't be a threat to the rest, probably, until Rip could trust them to work together. But Sara hadn't believed that he had no desire to hurt her—not that he would blame her for remaining vigilant—and he hadn't been able to think clearly enough to decide how he _should_ persuade her.  
  
And worst of all... in his muddled state, he'd thought for a few seconds that he was talking to _Alexa_. Sara looked like her, certainly, but even after he'd shaken off some of that confusion, she somehow reminded him of his one-time lover in ways that went deeper than even that superficial resemblance. And Alexa had been the only one to truly understand just how badly that monster had affected him, without Leonard ever needing to tell her anything.  
  
He had foolishly allowed himself to believe that Sara might understand just as easily.  
  
" _Len_...."  
  
Except she _wasn't_ Alexa. Sara Lance was a League assassin... and a pissed-off one at that. And he'd had to jump out of the proverbial frying pan by asking her to guess, all because he _couldn't make himself say it_.  
  
And Mick wasn't taking the threat seriously. Didn't believe the League was anything but a myth. Leonard could never make Mick understand how Sara could have him so rattled that he'd seriously consider abandoning the mission before it even started, not after he'd tried so hard to get Mick to come along in the first place.  
  
No, all Leonard could do was wonder, and worry, whether Sara might take advantage of this journey through time. There was simply no point in running away; she could send the League after him any time she felt like it and he'd never see it coming....  
  
" _Len!_ "  
  
He wasn't entirely sure how he ended up seated on the floor, feeling like a vice was crushing his chest, nor why Mick was holding him down and shoving an oxygen mask in his face.  
  
A quick review told him Mick had pushed him to the floor before he could collapse, but Leonard must've blacked out for a few seconds; he couldn't remember the bigger man even standing up.  
  
No, god damn it, _no_ , he was done with these panic attacks! He had to be! He didn't need the mask, _shouldn't_ have needed it when they'd found it among their loot more than a decade ago....  
  
But he sucked in as much air as the pain in his chest allowed, grateful Mick had thought to bring the mask.  
  
Mick shook his head. "I didn't think anyone but your old man could scare you like this," he muttered.  
  
Breathe through the nose.... hold for a count of three.... out through the mouth. Leonard kept one hand on his stomach to more easily monitor his breathing.  
  
In... hold... three... out...  
  
_I'm safe_ , Leonard told himself, as he tried to concentrate on what Mick was saying. _I'm_ safe _. The only people who could ever hurt me are both dead. Sara... she was just angry. She didn't mean what she said. Even if she did, Rip took too much care choosing us to let her risk the mission that easily._ Not that that would keep him safe once Vandal Savage was taken care of. _And Mick sure as hell isn't going to let her try anything_.  
  
In.... hold... three.... out....  
  
He felt guilty about expecting his friend to protect him from a League assassin, but the thought helped him to calm down. His heart eventually slowed to a normal pace. His breathing deepened as he made himself draw in more air with his abdomen. His chest stopped hurting, and he felt a little less dizzy.  
  
In... hold....  
  
"Snart?"  
  
The breath caught in Leonard's throat. He stared at the door, but it was sealed.  
  
He hoped.  
  
"Snart, look, I... I just wanted to apologize... which would be a _lot_ easier if I could tell if you were listening."  
  
The look of rage on Mick's face was unmistakable. But the bigger man wouldn't release his grip until Leonard waved him off and took hold of the mask himself.  
  
One of these days he'd have to figure out how to attach a strap to the damn thing. Fat lot of good it would do him if he didn't have a free hand. Or maybe "persuade" the Star Labs team to finish whatever they'd planned to do with it.  
  
"I'm good," Leonard muttered.  
  
Mick nodded, snatched up his heat gun, and strode over to the door.  
  
"Snart, _please_ , I—"  
  
Sara stopped mid-sentence when Mick opened the door and pointed the gun in her face. "Give me one good reason Rip shouldn't have to replace _you_ ," he growled.  
  
She ignored the gun and tried to peer around Mick. Not that he was trying very hard to block her view; standing far enough to the side so Leonard could see out of the room meant he _had_ to let her see in.  
  
Her face fell when she saw how shaken Leonard was. " _That's_ what he calls a quick recovery?" she muttered. "Snart, I.... I'm _sorry_. I should never have said that; it was—no, _I_ was—completely out of line." She glanced up at Mick, and then down at Leonard again. "Can we talk about this? In private? Please?"  
  
Mick snarled at the suggestion. "Anything you have to say to my partner," he said, "you can say in front of _me_."  
  
"Are you sure about that?" Sara asked Leonard. "You made it pretty clear earlier you didn't want to talk about it in front of anyone."  
  
"Thought you weren't interested in my 'life story,'" Leonard replied, his voice slightly muffled by the mask.  
  
"I'm not," Sara admitted. "But... but I was thinking about what you said. About not letting misunderstandings get in the way of the job. If you really think I need to hear it, then maybe I need to hear it."  
  
Leonard thought very carefully this time about Sara's behavior, but he couldn't detect any sign that she was anything less than sincere. More shocked than sorry, but he decided she really was offering to make amends.  
  
"Private means no eavesdropping, Mick," he finally said.  
  
Mick whirled to face him, eyes wide. "The _hell_? I ain't leaving you alone with—"  
  
Leonard put down the mask and jerked his head towards the door. "I'm fine. Go. See what you can find out about this ship."

—CONFESSIONS—

Sara waited until Mick was out of earshot before she stepped inside and sat down on the opposite side of the room, the furthest she could possibly get from Leonard and still be in the same room.  
  
Leonard thought about it for a bit, then decided she might actually have done that for his benefit. Or maybe Mick had threatened her on the way out, and she just didn't want to give the arsonist any reason to act on it.  
  
Either way, as long as she was only interested in talking, then so was he.  
  
Sara's eyes kept drifting towards the mask he still held.  
  
"Swiped a bunch of things from Star Labs a little over ten years back," Leonard explained. "Never expected to keep any of it—we can usually find buyers for anything the fences won't take—but when we figured out what _this_ was...." He shrugged. "It has its uses."  
  
"Okay, but... what is it?" she asked. "It looks like an oxygen mask, but there's no tank."  
  
"Doesn't need one," he replied. "It's like my own personal set of gills; it pulls in the oxygen from the air around me. Though sometimes I wonder if it's just some placebo, if maybe it only helps because I think it does."  
  
"Hmm... I could understand if it was some drug, but if it helps, isn't that really all that matters?" She shrugged. "Though I guess if you were worried about it turning into a _crutch_...."  
  
Leonard continued to eye her warily. "Should I ask how you came to that epiphany?"  
  
Sara grimaced. "I just got chewed out by a _computer_ for being too harsh," she said, correctly guessing that he wasn't talking about the mask. "I really wish I was joking. And Rip seems to think I made it harder for us to get the job done." She nodded at the mask. "Though I don't think he realizes just how much of a mess I made of things."  
  
"So you _didn't_ come here to apologize," he said. "Just to make sure the team can still function." Sara's face turned red. Leonard shrugged and waved her off before she could try to explain herself. "I suppose that's fair, considering I had an ulterior motive of my own."  
  
"Do tell," she muttered.  
  
He smirked, and gestured with the mask. "You didn't think I was trying this on for Halloween, did you? You scare the _hell_ out of me." He frowned; that didn't sound quite right. "Not you specifically, but... the League. As much trouble as I've caused, I've always tried to avoid attracting their attention. But with the two of us working _together_.... I was trying to convince you that you wouldn't need to take an interest in me, at least in that particular capacity. I quite obviously screwed that up."  
  
"No worse than I did." She lifted one eyebrow. "Has the League threatened you before? If you're so worried about attracting their attention that you're having a _panic attack_ about it...."  
  
"Not counting the last ten minutes?" Leonard replied. He shook his head. "I don't think so, no. Not that I'm aware of."  
  
"Not... that you're _aware_ of," Sara repeated. "No offense, Leonard, but the League isn't something that most people easily forget. If they've threatened you, you'd know about it."  
  
"That's actually the part that scares me," he admitted. He decided not to ask why she chose to call him 'Leonard' this time. "I have an eidetic memory, Sara. Which isn't _nearly_ as perfect as most people seem to think. But there isn't anything that I easily forget... _except_ for the League."  
  
She frowned. "I'm afraid I still don't understand."  
  
He shook his head. "That's because I'm still explaining it badly." He groaned. He really didn't want to tell her any of this, didn't want to tell _anyone_ ; there were far too many things even Mick and Lisa didn't know about him. But if he was going to be working with the assassin, she might end up triggering him by accident; he'd need _some_ way to prepare for that, and she had the best chance of helping him. "There's this.... hole in my memory. About a few months, from when I was ten. Maybe something I'd blocked out, I don't know."  
  
"If you'd blocked something out, you'd think it would've happened when you were _nine_ ," she said.  
  
He shuddered. "If only," he muttered. "My point is, I don't remember _anything_ during those months. Not one single moment. I don't even know if my mother died back then, or if she'd finally given up on getting us away from my father. If she's got a grave somewhere, nobody's ever told _me_ about it."  
  
"That you know of," Sara corrected.  
  
"That I know of," Leonard agreed.  
  
"And this _hole_ makes you scared of the League, because.... why, exactly?" She frowned. "Don't get me wrong, I'd be worried about it, too, but why do you think it has anything to do with them?"  
  
"I don't have any real evidence," he admitted. "All I know is, before this _hole_ , I'd never even heard of the League. And after... my father would insist they were a myth, some boogeyman invented to frighten children. Except _he_ was the one who always jumped whenever somebody mentioned them."  
  
"That just might be the first shred of evidence I've heard that your father had any real intelligence," she said.  
  
He snickered. "Do you know the saying about a broken clock?"  
  
"Right. Maybe he's not _that_ intelligent, then. So what, you decided you needed to avoid them since they could scare him that badly?"  
  
" _Hell_ , no! I'd decided anything that could scare him that badly was worth investigating. Especially if I could use it to protect Lisa. But that's just where the problems _started_. All I could ever pick up were rumors. Whenever I found anything that might be... _useful_...." He shrugged. "I'd just end up with another hole. Sometimes it was only an hour, sometimes a full day. Nothing near as bad as the first time—" or they _wouldn't_ have been as bad if these holes didn't have the tendency to leave blood on his hands "—but I got the message soon enough. I _hate_ not knowing what's happening to me, but as much as I rely on my memory, I'm certainly not going to keep prying into anything that could take it away."  
  
"You're afraid of the League because you can't remember them?" she said. "No, because something's _preventing_ you from remembering them." Her frown deepened. "That doesn't sound like anything I've heard of them doing.... Then again, _I'm_ not the one with a photographic memory—"  
  
"Eidetic," Leonard corrected.  
  
Sara rolled her eyes. "So if they'd done something like that before," she continued, "would I even know?"  
  
He shrugged. "You're the closest thing this crew has to an expert."  
  
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Leonard," she replied. "All right, if this really does have to do with the League—if it isn't some bizarre coincidence—maybe I can figure out how to fix it."  
  
He stared at her. He hadn't wanted her for an enemy, but did he dare hope she might be an ally? "You... you want to help fix this?"  
  
She smirked. "Why not? As long as we're working together, it's something I'll have to watch out for, anyway. _Especially_ if it involves the League."  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Good," she continued. "Now, about this 'friend' of your father's...."  
  
The color drained from Leonard's face, and he clutched the mask tighter in his hands. "That's none of your business," he mumbled.  
  
"Fair enough," she replied. "But—not that you need reminding—but you _are_ the one who mentioned him earlier."  
  
"That's because I didn't know how else to convince you," he murmured.  
  
"And now that I'm convinced, I don't need to know?" Sara asked. "Does _anybody_ know? Mick, or Lisa...."  
  
Leonard shook his head. "No one. I've never told anyone."  
  
"Not even your father? At that age... even with everything he'd done to you, I would think you would've tried to tell _him_."  
  
"They were both at Iron Heights together, Sara! They were _cell mates_. Do you honestly believe, in all that time, that my father never found out what that monster was in prison for, that he didn't _know_ what he was letting into our home?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: the non-con.  
> I should mention (given the last paragraph), at the time this chapter was written I hadn't actually decided whether Len's dad actually knew anything about what kind of monster his "friend" was... A later chapter shows that he knew but sure as hell didn't _"let"_ it happen.  
>  But Len believes he knew and that he allowed it to keep happening, and since this chapter is from Len's perspective.... 
> 
> Linked fics:  
> The disorientation Len noticed upon setting foot on the ship is, contrary to his own tendency to be suspicious of other people, neither Rip's nor Gideon's doing; rather, the man with an eidetic memory is already feeling the effects of changing history merely by being on board the time machine! In his case, those effects are explored in the fic Flash Sideways; the consequences of changing history--specifically his own--are the very premise of that story. (The feeling that something was rummaging around in his head might be blamed partially on Gideon; I expect neither Rip nor the AI would have expected anybody to notice that Gideon was monitoring the crew's brainwaves.)  
> The holes in Len's memories will be explored when I begin posting the "background" fic Majummed. And even Rip, for all his research into the crew, doesn't know about those holes.  
> And why Len (temporarily) mistook Sara for Alexa... well, I can always pick a different name if canon decides to provide us with more detail about that one, but regardless of what name I give to the character, the reason Sara reminded Len specifically of his one-time lover will be provided... in the fic League of MacGuffins.


	3. Concerned Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rip Hunter feels guilty about prying into Leonard's past, even more guilty that he doesn't dare act on the information, and resolves to try to avoid prying further... and knows nothing about the man's panic attack as a result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much dialogue is recreated from the episode (Legends Season 1 Episode 1) as I examine the side effects of time travel on the man with an eidetic memory.
> 
> Trigger warning: non-con hinted at in Len's childhood.
> 
> "That monster" (known elsewhere as a "friend" of Len's father) copyright me.  
> All others seen or mentioned this chapter copyright to DC, CW, etc.

"Would you like to see how they're progressing?" Gideon had asked.  
  
"Not particularly," Rip had replied. Truthfully, he hadn't even wanted to know about that part of Leonard's past. No matter that he'd researched the timelines of the entire crew, and no matter that he'd done so without _any_ of their consent—justifying his decision by telling himself that he needed to know if it would be safe to bring them together before he approached them. No matter that he now knew things that none of them would even admit to _themselves_ and he took those secrets in stride. Accidentally stumbling upon that one particular trauma had felt like a gross violation of Leonard's privacy. It felt like Rip had somehow let it happen just by knowing about it.  
  
In a way, he _had_ allowed it to happen... because he didn't dare do anything with the information. Certainly the risk of encountering any of the crew's personal demons was reason enough to know what those demons were. And this discovery might not have been so bad if Rip had been willing to change it, to give Leonard a somewhat more deserving childhood. But changing the past was always risky in the most ideal circumstances, especially as Rip was acting without the council's guidance; with the man's eidetic memory, changing his _personal_ history, even to eliminate those traumas that nobody should ever have to suffer, could prove dangerous in ways that the Time Masters continued to spout endless theories about without ever truly understanding the phenomenon.  
  
Far more dangerous even than those traumas had been.  
  
"No, Gideon," Rip had continued. "This is not the way I had imagined persuading those two to work together, but I don't think I need to know any more details. It would of course be irresponsible for me to command you to _stop_ monitoring the crew, but until I say otherwise, you shouldn't need to inform me of anything short of a medical emergency."  
  
"Yes, Captain."  
  
That conversation had occurred the instant Sara Lance had left the bridge in search of Leonard Snart. Despite his warning, Rip didn't think Sara would have a difficult time handling herself against Mick Rory; convincing the arsonist to let her apologize to Leonard without coming to blows first would be the only challenge.  
  
So it was with no small sense of alarm that he detected the Waverider activating one of its life-support functions in the medical bay. He quickly scanned the entirety of the ship, but there were no signs of any emergencies to be found. By the time he checked in on Leonard and Sara, the medical bay had shut itself down again, unneeded. Leonard and Sara were talking again—about what, Rip couldn't tell and he wasn't about to dig himself in deeper by trying to find out—but there was nothing to show why the life support had activated in the first place.  
  
And of course Gideon, taking his order quite literally, told him nothing.  
  
As a result, the door opening behind him was all the warning Rip had before the arsonist spun him around and punched him in the face.  
  
Rip stared up at Mick from the floor. He wondered if he dared to try to get up, but the arsonist was standing directly over him, pointing that heat gun in his face.  
  
No, staying down just might be the best of some very poor options.  
  
"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Mick snarled. "Do you have _any_ idea what kind of lunatic you recruited?"  
  
Staying down and keeping his mouth _firmly_ _shut_ , Rip amended, before he could do something potentially fatal like ask _which_ lunatic Mick was referring to.  
  
"That woman, Sara... I don't know what her game is," Mick continued when Rip refused to say anything, "but she's got Len convinced of some nonsense about this League of Assassins being out to get him. Of course everybody knows they're just a myth, but you can't tell _him_ that; she's got him so upset that he's having another panic attack over it!"  
  
"My god... but he's all right, now?" Rip asked. Panic attack? That had to have been why the life support had activated, but how could Sara—even threatening the man with the League—have possibly triggered an attack in the first place? "He _is_ all right, isn't he?"  
  
Mick blinked, surprised at Rip's concern for Leonard's well-being, and his aim wavered. "Um.... yeah.... Says he is, anyway."  
  
Rip took advantage of the man's momentary confusion to scoot out from under him, but he didn't do anything more than push himself up to a seated position just yet. "To answer your question," he said, "no, I did not know. Yes, I was aware of Miss Lance's.... erm, beliefs about the League—" probably best not to correct the arsonist just yet on the League's existence "—but I had no idea that Mr. Snart knew anything about it, nor that it would have affected him this badly."  
  
This was, quite unfortunately, complete truth. While a panic attack was not entirely surprising, given the trauma of Leonard's childhood, the research Rip had conducted had not suggested _any_ prior knowledge of the League, let alone prior knowledge sufficient to trigger such an attack. For all Rip could tell, Leonard _should_ have believed the League was a myth like most people did.  
  
"If I might be so bold, Mr. Rory," Rip said, deciding it was probably safe enough to push himself slowly to his feet. "If you think Mr. Snart's situation is that troubling, then why are you _here_? Why aren't you still looking out for him?"  
  
Mick grunted. "Two reasons. One, Len says he's fine. Says he wants to talk to Sara in private." The look on his face made it clear the arsonist was _not_ comfortable with Leonard's judgment at the moment.  
  
"And the other...?" Rip prompted, though he suspected he knew the answer.  
  
"This team was _your_ idea," Mick replied. "If Sara hurts him again, you're just as dead as she is."  
  
Rip nodded. Yes, that was _exactly_ what he'd thought the other reason would be. "Duly noted," he said.  
  
There was no time to say more. The rest of the crew was arriving.  
  
Mick gave Rip one last glare before he turned to face Martin with a grin on his face. "Whatever you roofied him with," he said, pointing at Jefferson, "I'd like some."  
  
"I did _not_ roofie him," Martin protested.  
  
"Oh, I ain't judging," Mick replied.  
  
Then Kendra and Carter walked in.  
  
"I have never seen anything like this before," Kendra said, awed at her tour of the ship.  
  
"Neither have I," Carter said, equally impressed. "And considering I have 4,000 years worth of memories, that's saying something."  
  
Leonard and Sara were the last to trail in. Rip snuck a glance at the two, but he wouldn't have guessed that Leonard had suffered a panic attack had Mick not said anything. Nor, for that matter, that Sara had been angry enough with the man to trigger that attack.  
  
Sara sidled up to Rip. "I don't suppose we could manage any side trips on this mission?" she asked while the rest of the crew was still staring around them.  
  
"You okay?" Mick muttered to Leonard. He continued to glare at Sara.  
  
"I'm fine," Leonard muttered back. "Just a misunderstanding."  
  
"One hell of a misunderstanding," Mick said with another grunt.  
  
"I suppose that depends on the trip," Rip told Sara.  
  
"Oh, just someone in Iron Heights about...." She glanced at Leonard. "Late seventies, I'm guessing? Who really, _really_ needs to die. As painfully as I can manage." She smirked. "I'm thinking castration with a dull knife should be the first step."  
  
Mick's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, such that it was, at Sara's comment. He glanced at Leonard, then back at Sara. "You're offering to take out his old man?" he said, the anger in his voice transforming into a hint of respect.  
  
Rip fought to keep from smiling. The pair had now certainly become three. If only he dared give Sara what she was asking for, then he might be more confident of the trio's loyalty.  
  
But Sara shook her head. "No, that'll have to be later. After Lisa's born. Though I wouldn't mind scaring him half to death."  
  
"Careful, Sara," Leonard muttered. "For all we know, _you_ might be the reason he's afraid of the League."  
  
Mick rolled his eyes.  
  
"Hmm... good point," Sara replied. "Normally that'd be a _good_ thing, but...."  
  
"Sorry to disappoint, Miss Lance," Rip said with genuine regret, "but as much as I agree that, erm, certain people need a well-deserved visit from someone with your skills, I'm afraid that sort of trip won't be possible. Changing history is simply... _not_ that simple." He lowered his voice to keep Leonard from overhearing. "Even if you killed that monster before he could do any harm, it wouldn't make any _real_ difference. Not the sort of difference we'd _both_ like to see. Mr. Snart would still remember what had happened—" according to the theories, anyway "—and _that_ would be a recipe for madness."  
  
"How does a vessel of this size function without a crew?" Martin asked, oblivious to the drama playing out on the other side of the bridge.  
  
"Oh, I don't need one," Rip said, relieved to discuss a topic that he _could_ do something about. "I have Gideon."  
  
Right on cue, Gideon appeared. "Welcome aboard," the AI said. "I am Gideon, an interactive artificial consciousness, programmed to operate this vessel's critical systems, and aid Captain Hunter in his mission."  
  
" _Captain_?" Len scoffed.  
  
"Gideon's been working to help me locate Vandal Savage," Rip explained.  
  
Ray frowned. "I thought you said he's pretty active in the 22nd century."  
  
"Perhaps engaging Savage at the height of his power isn't the best strategy," Martin suggested.  
  
"Indeed," Rip agreed. "Unfortunately, Savage has kept his movements hidden throughout history. Not even Gideon can determine where or when we can find him. But... I have the next best thing: the man who can." He leaned over the central panel, and a face appeared on the screen. "Professor Aldus Boardman. Professor Boardman is the world's leading—well, _only_ —expert on Vandal Savage. We're going to pay him a little visit."  
  
"Course plotted for St. Roch, New Orleans," Gideon said.  
  
"St. Roch?" Carter repeated, stunned.  
  
"October 17th, 1975," Gideon continued.  
  
"I suggest you all strap yourselves in," Rip said, heading for the lone chair at the front of the bridge. "Temporal navigation isn't something one wants to be standing up for." He sat down and quickly followed his own advice, pulling the harness down and locking it in place.  
  
The rest of the crew was quick to comply.  
  
"Time travel," Mick said. "Cool."  
  
"Some of you may experience slight discomfort," Rip said. "In very rare instances there will be some, uh..." he dropped his voice, "bleeding from the eyeballs," he finished in a murmur.  
  
Kendra's eyes got wide. "I'm sorry, _what_?"  
  
The rest of the crew looked at Rip with similarly shocked expressions.  
  
Rip activated the Waverider before answering. "The human body is used to time unfolding linearly," he explained as the Waverider took off.  
  
Jefferson chose that moment to wake up.  
  
"Jackson, I'm so glad you're awake," Martin said with a grin. "I didn't want you to miss this."  
  
"Miss what?" Jefferson mumbled vaguely. He peered at Martin blearily for a moment before looking around. "What the—" He began struggling with his harness.  
  
"Oh, no, I wouldn't unfasten those if I were you," Rip warned.  
  
"Get me off this... whatever this thing is!" Jefferson demanded frantically.  
  
"Good luck explaining this," Sara said with a laugh.  
  
"I did him a favor!" Martin insisted.  
  
"He doesn't look all that grateful," Leonard added with a laugh of his own.  
  
"Just hang on and remain calm," Rip told the crew. He turned his chair around to face the main window. "All your worlds are about to change," he said, then sent the Waverider back through time.  
  
It took but a few moments before the Waverider set down, forty-one years in the past.  
  
Several members of the crew unfastened their harnesses to stand up and stretch, but Mick immediately began vomiting over the side of his chair.  
  
"Oh, I should have mentioned it before," Rip said. "Nausea is one of the side effects of time travel, along with—"  
  
 _Thud_! Ray fell flat on his face.  
  
"—vertigo," Rip finished.  
  
"I can't see!" Martin said, a note of fear creeping into his voice.  
  
"And temporary blindness," Rip added. "Oh, it should only last a minute. After all, that was a mere jaunt." He waved his hand in front of Martin's face. "The further back in time you go, the worse the side effects. Better?"  
  
"It's all relative," Martin said before he put his glasses back on.  
  
"Good."  
  
Leonard refused to stand. He shook his head quickly, as though trying, with a spectacular lack of success, to force himself to stay awake. He looked... worn out. Completely drained.  
  
Rip made a mental note to review the council's theories about eidetic memory. Lethargy sometimes happened to time travelers, usually as the body's way of protecting itself from far more serious problems, and it didn't usually lift until those other problems were no longer a threat. It was not surprising that Leonard should experience that particular side effect, but it _would_ limit any immediate contributions the man could make to the mission until he recovered.  
  
"I can't believe you _kidnapped_ me," Jefferson complained. "I want to go home!" he told Rip.  
  
"Good news, then," Rip replied. "2016 will be around in, uh, forty-one years. Now, you three," he said, turning to Sara and the two thieves—well, to Sara and Mick, since Leonard appeared to be falling asleep—"feel free to make yourselves comfortable back here on the ship, while the rest of you are coming with me to find Professor Boardman."  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," Mick said. "You're _benching_ us?"  
  
"I thought we were a team!" Sara protested.  
  
"This mission doesn't require your particular skill set," Rip said. Not to mention he could hardly keep an eye on Leonard while the man regained his energy. Leaving him on board the Waverider would be the best thing to help him recover at the moment, and if leaving Sara and Mick behind to look out for him helped them mesh together more firmly as a team.... well, Rip would take whatever benefit he could. "Yet."  
  
"Meaning you don't need anyone killed, maimed, or robbed," Leonard replied, only showing a hint of annoyance at being jarred from his sleep.  
  
Perhaps the man was recovering already. Rip _definitely_ needed to review those theories.  
  
"Precisely," Rip said.  
  
"You sure it's a good idea to leave these two unsupervised on a time machine?" Ray muttered.  
  
"Hey, haircut!" Mick said. "Deafness wasn't one of the side effects."  
  
"We better hurry up," Rip said, whirling towards the exit. "Professor Boardman will die in less than twenty-four hours."  
  
"What's the point in cutting it so close?" Ray asked.  
  
"Because if he's destined to die," Martin explained, "then he doesn't have a timeline for us to disrupt, and his impact on the future will be minimal. How brilliant!"  
  
"And depressing," Kendra added. "How does he die?"  
  
"Uh, he's found dead in his university from unknown causes," Rip said, a little more bluntly than he'd intended. "Come on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter returns to Len's perspective and overlaps this one.
> 
> Linked Fics  
> Some details are or will be explored in greater detail elsewhere.  
> For instance, the side effects of time travel and changing history when those changes affect someone with an eidetic memory are the premise of the story Flash Sideways.  
> Len's fear of the League, and why Rip didn't know anything about it despite his research into the team, will be explored in Majummed.


	4. Side Effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leonard Snart is _extremely_ tired as a side effect of time travel, and he is unable to prevent himself from having nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I give up creating cutesy chapter titles for a story that isn't cutesy at all.
> 
> Chapter overlaps with the previous one, but told in Len's perspective.
> 
> Two trigger warnings:  
> Non-con discussed in Len's childhood (because my imaginary muse didn't think being abused as a kid was screwed up enough)...  
> And specific incidents of childhood abuse described in this chapter.
> 
> That monster/etc (mentioned) copyright to me.  
> All others seen or mentioned copyright to DC, CW, etc.

"Some of you may experience slight discomfort," Rip was saying. "In very rare instances there will be some, uh... bleeding from the eyeballs," he finished in a mumble.  
  
It took Leonard a great deal of effort not to show his shock at that statement. He couldn't _possibly_ have heard correctly.  
  
Could he?  
  
"I'm sorry, _what_?" Kendra asked.  
  
So he _had_ heard correctly. Or else Kendra thought Rip had said something equally disturbing.  
  
Rip hit a few buttons on his chair before answering. "The human body is used to time unfolding linearly," he yelled over the sound of the Waverider's engines.  
  
Jefferson chose that moment to wake up.  
  
"Jackson, I'm so glad you're awake," Martin said with a grin. "I didn't want you to miss this."  
  
"Miss what?" Jefferson mumbled vaguely. He peered at Martin blearily for a moment before looking around. "What the—" He began struggling with his harness.  
  
"Oh, no, I wouldn't unfasten those if I were you," Rip warned.  
  
"Get me off this... whatever this thing is!" Jefferson demanded frantically.  
  
"Good luck explaining this," Sara said with a laugh.  
  
"I did him a favor!" Martin insisted.  
  
"He doesn't look all that grateful," Leonard added with a laugh of his own.  
  
"Just hang on and remain calm," Rip told the crew. He turned his chair around to face the main window. "All your worlds are about to change," he said as he pushed a lever forward.  
  
It took only a few short moments for the Waverider to set down in the past, but Leonard felt like he'd been awake the full forty-one years. He tried, and failed, to shake off the lassitude coming over him.  
  
Rip was mumbling something about side effects... no, not mumbling, Leonard just couldn't seem to focus on the man's voice. He managed to remove the harness, but as much as he squirmed around in his seat, he couldn't _make_ himself stay awake.  
  
The last time he'd felt this drained was... shit, that was in Iron Heights last December. Right before some of the other prisoners had set on him for ruining their precious cartoons.  
  
It had been like that day in Juvie all over again, but with no Mick to save him this time. He still had no idea how he'd survived that, not with the guards turning a blind eye to the whole thing. Well, no, that wasn't true; he knew _how_ he'd survived—one of the inmates had jumped in and kept the others at bay until the prison's doctors could bully their way past the guards. What he _didn't_ know was who had saved him... or why.  
  
Waking up in Iron Height's infirmary, connected to more tubes and wires than he wanted to count, to see Caitlin Snow of all people staring down at him in shock, had only served to confuse him. It didn't help that he'd only been awake for a few seconds—no chance to ask questions, even assuming the broken jaw or crushed throat or who-knew-what damage to his chest would allow speech, and he didn't think Caitlin had ever realized he'd woken up at all.  
  
Nor could he find answers afterwards. Immediately after he'd recovered, the warden had had him transferred to... well, it wasn't solitary confinement, but it was near enough. Supposedly Detective West had recommended it for Leonard's own protection. The guards on that floor were spreading rumors, claiming that one of the inmates had found a way around the anti-meta protection and had taken on the other prisoners just to prove that he _could_. But they didn't seem to know who it was, either... or why this hypothetical meta had chosen to protect Leonard. And he'd had no chance to ask anyone else; he had simply never seen anyone but the prison staff since then until Mardon had busted him out a week later.  
  
Before that was the casino heist. He'd been horribly sick that night. Delirious. He'd been firmly convinced that he needed to kill Mardon before his freak weather could kill two of the only people Leonard really cared about... despite the fact that he'd never even heard of the man before in his life. The thief had found himself an easy target for the Santinis' thugs, too weak to defend himself, and Mick hadn't realized he was in trouble until it was too late.  
  
Small miracle the thugs had been ordered to bring him and Mick in alive.  
  
Before that was....  
  
But it was no use. No matter how much he tried to keep up the litany of times this lassitude had nearly gotten him killed, he just couldn't fight it off. His eyes slipped closed and within seconds he was fast asleep.

—CONFESSIONS—

"You're _benching_ us?" Mick snarled, jolting Leonard awake again.  
  
"I thought we were a _team_ ," Sara protested.  
  
"This mission doesn't require your particular skill set," Rip said. "Yet."  
  
Leonard managed to open his eyes in time to see Rip looking at all three of them. Looking at _him_ , specifically, with what looked suspiciously like worry in his eyes. "Meaning you don't need anyone killed, maimed, or robbed," the thief drawled, guessing that Rip had told all three of them to stay behind. He didn't even pretend to protest the order; he was irritated that Rip had decided to coddle him, but he knew would be useless until he could get his energy back.  
  
"Precisely," Rip said.  
  
"You sure it's a good idea to leave these two unsupervised on a time machine?" Ray muttered.  
  
"Hey, haircut!" Mick said. "Deafness wasn't one of the side effects."  
  
"We better hurry up," Rip said, whirling towards the exit.  
  
Leonard let his eyes shut again. The crew's words washed over him, unheard, unnoticed. It wasn't until he felt something large hover over him that he opened his eyes to glare at the arsonist. "I'm not _sick_ ," he said, laying a protective hand on his pistol; the cold gun was charging in his assigned quarters, and he knew he'd never be able to touch it until Mick was sure he was feeling better. "Just... tired."  
  
Mick put his hands up and backed off, but he kept a wary eye on Leonard's gun.  
  
"Is this another one of the side effects?" Jefferson asked.  
  
Leonard blinked. Why was the kid...? Right, the old man had drugged him. The kid probably didn't feel like trusting his own partner right now.  
  
Leonard could relate.  
  
"Technically speaking," Gideon replied.  
  
Leonard snorted. "It either is or it isn't," he murmured.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Snart," Gideon said. The AI's voice actually sounded apologetic. Leonard wondered if it was programmed to sound that way with the right context or if the technology was advanced enough to give it real emotions. "The side effects of time travel are not always explained so easily to first-timers. But I believe this particular effect might be comparable to sopite syndrome."  
  
"And that means _what_ in English?" Mick said.  
  
"Like someone with motion sickness falling asleep in the car," Sara explained. "It means Leonard is shutting down to keep from getting sick."  
  
_Dammit_. She _had_ to phrase it like that. So much for keeping a weapon on him; Mick would be after his pistol for sure. _And goodbye, cold gun._  
  
"That isn't strictly accurate," Gideon replied, "but it's close enough for the purpose. Would you prefer to retire to your room, Mr. Snart? You should have an easier time recovering if you would lie down in a proper bed."  
  
"Yeah," Leonard said. "That's probably a good idea." He pushed himself out of the chair, and wasn't even startled when Mick moved in to support him on one side.  
  
"Can't have you passing out before you get there," the arsonist said.  
  
"How very _thoughtful_ ," Leonard replied. And there went his pistol. He sighed the moment he felt it leave his holster.  
  
At least Mick let him walk this time; he would be damned if he'd let the man toss him over a shoulder, and the corridors were a little too narrow for anything dignified... not that there was much dignity in being carried any other way.  
  
He was surprised, however, to feel the kid push in to support him on the other side.

—CONFESSIONS—

"Shouldn't we keep an eye on him?" Sara asked after they'd gotten Leonard bundled up and in bed.  
  
"Please don't," Leonard murmured. "I don't like being watched." There were few times he would be more vulnerable than in sleep, and only two people he trusted _that_ completely. Mick was not one of those people.  
  
"I'll alert all of you if Mr. Snart needs to be taken to the MedBay for any reason," Gideon replied, "but at the moment he only needs to sleep."  
  
Sara nodded, and she, Mick, and Jefferson left the room.  
  
"So... Gideon," Leonard said. "2166?"  
  
"You really should be trying to sleep, Mr. Snart."  
  
Leonard couldn't help but laugh at the tone he imagined in _that_ comment; he was clearly so tired he was starting to go loopy. " _Yes_ , mother," he said. "But I don't suppose you could give me anything... to keep me from dreaming?" His voice slurred as he fought off the urge to drop off just yet. He hated the idea of taking drugs for this—or for any other reason, if he could help it—and in his era, most medications that could prevent dreams would also interfere with the rest he so desperately needed. It was a long shot that Rip's future would have anything Leonard could take, but he had a good idea what sort of nightmares he'd have if he gave in to that need without help. If he wasn't so tired he could at least wake himself up when the dreams got too bad, but....  
  
"Nothing that would help you rest, I'm afraid," Gideon replied, confirming his suspicions. "Just as in your time, any medication that can interfere with your sleep pattern and successfully eliminate the dreaming stage would also interfere with your ability to benefit from sleep. The usual method is to make you _forget_ those dreams, but with your eidetic memory, any treatment strong enough to guarantee results would be unsafe under the present circumstances."  
  
"Of course," Leonard said. "Thanks anyway."  
  
"Although I could try—"  
  
But Leonard never heard what else Gideon was offering to try. He was already sound asleep.  
  
And as he'd predicted, when he dropped off to sleep, he began dreaming of random moments in his childhood. Another drawback to an eidetic memory was that he could tell very easily what was a memory and what was his imagination running away with him... most of the time.  
  
These dreams were both.  
  
The first time he'd had to leave school early and his father had beaten him so hard over it that he'd broken Leonard's arm. True memory.  
  
A few of his classmates—some of them children of convicts his own father had put away before the man's screw-up, one or two bullies by choice—had ambushed him in the locker room after PE and laid into him. They'd accused him of acting like he was better than them. Why would he dress the way he did, all long sleeves and pants even in the hottest weather, unless he was afraid of accidentally _touching_ one of them? Why wait until they'd all left before taking his own shower after class, unless he thought he was too good to share a stall? Why this, why that? They'd left him such a bloody mess when they were done that even the school nurse didn't notice how old some of his bruises really were, and he'd been sent home and told to stay there for a few days to recover.  
  
But his father hadn't cared _why_ Leonard was home early, only that his unexpected arrival had interfered with whatever plans the man had made with his gang.  
  
Going to school the next week with a cast and a doctor's note had gotten him filtered into one of the special education programs, with a workload more suitable to his mental skills, no PE, and an early end to his day. His father had grumbled about the changes, but as long as the authorities thought the other students were wholly responsible for Leonard's injuries, he was willing to make other arrangements with his gang.  
  
The first time Leonard went with his mother to visit his father in prison. True memory, with some wishful thinking mixed in.  
  
The man had sworn to them, many times over, that he had learned his lesson, that when he got out of prison he would do a better job supporting them. There was a woman there, Ruvé, who had wanted him to join some work release program, to make up for his theft and help him take care of his family at the same time.  
  
In the dream, those promises, his father's and Ruvé's both, had been genuine, and Lewis had simply made terrible mistakes that landed him back on the criminal path. The reality...  
  
The reality was, the man's excuses were just that... excuses. The same sort of manipulation he'd used to keep Leonard's mother from leaving until he'd started abusing her, the same lies he'd told that had kept Leonard and Lisa obedient while they were growing up. And Leonard had _never_ trusted Ruvé. As kindly as she'd behaved, as many promises as she'd made, as easily as his mother had believed those promises—or as desperate as she'd been for anything to help her raise her son—some instinct had always warned the little boy that Ruvé was dangerous.  
  
The time he and his mother had been forced to watch as his father tortured Lisa. Pure nightmare.  
  
The last time Leonard had seen his mother was the day before his birthday... and Lewis had never raised a hand to either child until _after_ she'd disappeared. Even on his worst days, he had never hurt them in cold blood, never without some excuse. The man had just been very, very good at coming up with excuses.  
  
Interspersed with these were memories of that other monster. A true memory of the first time he'd caught Leonard alone....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: MAJOR trigger warning. The actual non-con is given in that chapter... in the form of a nightmare of a memory from a kid who didn't understand what was being done to him. (I tried to keep it vague... but I also kept it in its own chapter so it's easy to skip if you prefer.)
> 
> Linked Fics:  
> The consequences of time travel and changing history, when those changes affect someone with an eidetic memory (i.e. Len), are the premise of the story Flash Sideways.  
> The moments he describes here when he'd felt so drained are similarly explored in that fic. The time he thought he needed to kill Mardon, for instance, is covered in Chapter 4, and Mick's rationale for disarming him is explained in that same chapter.  
> The incident in Iron Heights is in an as-yet-unnamed sequel fic to Flash Sideways. But for a hint for anyone who's curious--well, Len remembers that Mardon busted him out a week after that incident. So which episode aired the week before Mardon got him out of prison? ;)  
> And why Ruve is involved... well, that's related to Majummed, but I don't know (yet) if it will be specifically mentioned.


	5. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Len has nightmares of the first time he was raped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: this is _the_ chapter containing the non-con.  
>  I tried to keep it vague--it is given in the form of a nightmare of a memory from a kid who didn't understand what was being done to him at the time--and the actual assault takes up less than 200 words of a 1300-plus word chapter (his behavior before and after the attack is the more relevant part of the chapter), but it is in its own chapter so that it can easily be skipped by anyone who doesn't want to read that sort of trigger.
> 
> Dad's "friend" (seen this chapter) and Amber (mentioned in passing) copyright me.  
> All others copyright DC, CW, etc.

The nine-year-old walked up the driveway and looked around.  
  
No car. His dad was probably out drinking again.  
  
Leonard sighed. No dad meant _he'd_ have to go pick up Lisa before the daycare charged them overtime again. He didn't mind that responsibility—he would do anything for his little sister—but looking after her gave him less time to finish his homework before their dad came up with another stupid job for him.  
  
He went straight to his room before he dumped out his bag and starting digging through the contents. He'd save the English for later; Lisa loved it when he read to her, and he could always write up his report tonight after she was asleep. Science, finished at school. Math.... hmm, maybe.  
  
History... ugh. Leonard was very good at memorizing names and dates, enough to ace every test with only a single glance through the book, but he absolutely _hated_ that subject. It wasn't that he didn't like learning about the past, either; some of those ancient civilizations were amazing. No, the problem was being forced to learn about all the terrible things people did when he would never be able to do anything about it... when he couldn't do anything about the terrible things happening to him and Lisa _now_. At least the book he was reading for English was make-believe.  
  
Better get that assignment over with, then. He needed to get his grades back up before his father found out.  
  
He was halfway through the questions when his heart started pounding and his mouth felt dry. Something was very, very wrong; he didn't know what it was, only that he needed to hide.  
  
But where? His bed was too low to crawl under, the closet too small. And anyway, he didn't have enough clothes to hide him. His dad had broken the lock on his door a year ago, but the windows were bolted shut; he could barely get a breeze in his room when the weather was hot.  
  
He shoved the pile of books in front of his door and wedged himself into the corner between his bed and his dresser. And he sat, shaking, as he waited for this sudden fear to pass.  
  
Someone pushed open the door, spilling all of the books over. Leonard looked up to see one of his father's new friends standing in the room.  
  
"You're dad's going to be out for a few more hours," the man said. "I figured I ought to check up on you." He looked Leonard up and down, and smirked. "Ruvé warned me you were a pretty one," he added.  
  
Leonard didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it all out at once. He didn't know anything about the man, or any of his dad's friends; his father had forbidden him to even _talk_ to them, which suited the little boy just fine, and he'd only seen them briefly those rare moments when he got home from school before they'd left.  
  
But if the man was involved with Ruvé, he must be in the same work thing his dad was doing. That had to be why he'd been hanging around.  
  
The pounding of Leonard's heart didn't let up, but he tried to ignore it so he could get back to doing his homework.  
  
The man frowned. "Kid! You're supposed to _thank_ someone when they say nice things about you," he growled.  
  
Leonard's eyes snapped back up to the man. "Um.... thank you?" he said. For _what_? For calling him _pretty_? The only one he liked calling him "pretty" was Amber, his friend from the shop. From anyone else, "pretty" just sounded.... weird.  
  
The smirk didn't return. The man walked into the room and shut the door behind him, then he began taking off his belt.  
  
Leonard started shaking again. Oh, no, _oh, no_. He must not have sounded sincere, or he'd taken too long to say anything, and now the man was probably going to whip him with the belt because of it, just like his dad would've done when Leonard did something wrong.  
  
He desperately wanted to run, and he had to force himself to hold still, to take his punishment. Running never, _ever_ helped; whenever he ran from his father, he just got beaten harder to make up for it. And fighting back...  
  
The first time his father had hit Lisa was because Leonard had tried to fight back. Because she was smaller, because she couldn't defend herself as well as he could, because it was a lot easier to punish her than to punish him. No, he couldn't let anyone hurt Lisa, even if that meant he _had_ to let the man hurt him.  
  
The man reached down and grabbed Leonard hard by the chin. "I feel any teeth," he said, "I'm breaking your jaw, you got that?"  
  
Leonard tried to nod, but the man held him so tight he could barely move his head. He was confused... why did the man expect to feel teeth?  
  
He got his answer a few seconds later when he felt the man's tongue shove down his throat. He gagged at the intrusion, nearly bit down by accident... He _wanted_ to bite down, but the man ground his fingers deeper into his jaw, and Leonard could only whimper at the pain.  
  
When the man finally released him, Leonard doubled over, gasping and trying not to be sick.  
  
But the man wasn't done with him yet. He dragged Leonard from the corner and threw him over the bed. Forced him out of his pants and underpants.  
  
Leonard still couldn't run or fight. He didn't understand what the man was doing to him, but he knew if he tried to resist it would be so much worse.  
  
And he was much too scared to move.  
  
When the man flipped him over, face-down, and forced himself in, creating a _PAIN!_ like the child had never felt before, all Leonard could do was scream into his pillow until he was hoarse.

—CONFESSIONS—

The man had been gone for an hour before Leonard could stop shaking long enough to even try to crawl out of bed. He stood up, wincing at the pain, and examined himself. No visible injuries, but there was a sticky liquid coming from where the man had shoved into him... blood and something else.  
  
He took a quick shower, hissing as the tiniest movements caused him more pain, and scrubbed himself all over as hard as he dared. After he dried, he put on clean clothes, grabbed his backpack, and started searching the house for anything he thought a nine-year-old should need to survive on his own.  
  
The bag was nearly full, and he had just gone back into his room to grab a few more toys, when he heard footsteps behind him.  
  
"Lenny?" Lisa mumbled. She hugged her favorite teddy bear, one of Leonard's old toys, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Where ya going?" the toddler asked, peering blearily at Leonard's bag.  
  
Leonard stared at her, heart pounding again. Their dad was still out, so who had brought Lisa home?  
  
"Lenny?" she said again.  
  
"I.... I'm not going anywhere," Leonard managed to reply, his throat still raw from all the screaming. "I was just..." He swallowed. "I was just trying to finish my homework." He tried to smile. "Why don't you go back to bed? I got a new book; I can read it to you."  
  
"Kay," Lisa replied with a smile, and turned around to wait for him in her room.  
  
Leonard waited until Lisa was out of sight before he dropped to the floor and began sobbing. He _couldn't_ run away, not even after what that man had done to him. _Especially_ not after. Who would take care of Lisa if he was gone? Who would make sure that man wouldn't hurt her like he'd hurt Leonard?  
  
He couldn't trust their _father_ to. Amber would protect her, easy enough—she loved the little girl as much as Leonard did—but her shop was all the way on the other side of town. And without their dad's permission... no, he couldn't risk getting Amber in trouble like that.  
  
He looked down the hallway towards Lisa's room. If he ran away, then there would be nobody left to protect her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, one more nightmare in which Len gets hints of how much his dad knew about the assault, a few pleasant dreams, and then he finally wakes up to rejoin the crew.
> 
> Linked Fics  
> Some things are or will be explained or explored elsewhere.  
> Ruve's part is yet to be discovered, and relates to the story Majummed.


	6. Lucid Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Len has one more bad dream, has a few pleasant dreams, and finally awakens to rejoin the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter told from Len's, Gideon's, and (courtesy of one more bad dream) Lewis' perspectives.
> 
> Trigger warning: non-con still given in Len's bad dreams.
> 
> That sick SOB (and other such deserving nicknames) and Amber copyright me.  
> All others copyright DC, CW, etc.

If a computer could be said to be troubled, then Gideon was beyond troubled. The AI understood the human concept of "fair" well enough to know that after Leonard had suffered such things when he was awake, he should _never_ have to relive them in his sleep, let alone so many years later.  
  
But she had told him the truth. There was no simple solution to prevent these nightmares without interfering with the sleep he needed so badly. There were, however, methods that were not simple at all. Techniques that the AI could control easily enough, but which even most Time Masters had difficulty with on their own.  
  
Leonard would need a great deal of training of his own if he was to benefit from those methods without Gideon's direct intervention.  
  
Gideon watched the thief's dreams, analyzed them to determine the proper response, and waited for that response to take effect.  
  
As she watched the little boy he'd been in those dreams, she began to understand why Rip had been so determined to recruit Leonard Snart. Why him, why a deadly criminal, and not someone with an upbringing more suitable to the mission. Caught up as he'd been in his grief for his own family, Rip's heart had gone out to the little boy, the brave and loyal and so very frightened child who had reminded him so much of his own Jonas... and equally, of himself. Only Gideon knew just how close he had come to simply abducting Leonard and Lisa as children, stealing them away the _instant_ their mother had vanished, before their father had raised a hand to them even once; only knowing the damage such a drastic change would likely cause, thanks to Leonard's eidetic memory, had stayed the captain's hand.  
  
Leonard could not be protected from his past, but Gideon was determined to protect him from his nightmares, for all of their sakes.  
  
And with each dream, Leonard became a little more lucid, a little more distant from his dreams, a little more aware that he was _only_ dreaming. With time and practice, he might be able to control this effect, to change the dreams into something more to his liking, even if would be too dangerous to change the reality that had shaped them. For now, it would have to be enough for Gideon to control the process.  
  
But even the AI couldn't predict how that would turn out.

—CONFESSIONS—

The next dream was strange, but not in the illogical way that dreams tended towards strangeness.  
  
This time, Leonard dreamed about his father. The children were nowhere in sight.  
  
Lewis returned home early one day when Leonard was ten, after discovering that none of the bars would let him build up his tab any further and he didn't have the money to buy another beer. He was sober, for once, and very pissed about it.  
  
Finding another car in his driveway had done nothing to quell his anger, nor had finding the owner of that car lounging in the kitchen.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Lewis snarled at the man. "We had a _deal_ , you sick son of a bitch. I work with you, I do whatever your boss wants, but you don't go anywhere near my home when I'm not here and you _stay the fuck away from my kids_! That was the deal!"  
  
" _Whatever_ the boss wants? And yet, there is one order you still refuse to follow." The man shook his head. "Darkh is not a patient man, Lewis. Those kids belonged to him the instant you set one foot outside of Iron Heights. _That_ was the deal. The only distinction right now is what he does with them. I'm allowed to do anything I want as long as I don't interfere with his plans."  
  
Lewis snatched up a pistol and shoved it in the man's face. "Then maybe I should just forget the deal and blow your brains out where you stand." He sneered. "If I get sent back to prison for _that_ —"  
  
"Even assuming you _could_ kill me?" the man interrupted. He shrugged and ignored the pistol. "Ruvé already has arrangements in place for just such an incident. If you go back to prison for any reason, then _someone_ will have to take care of your children. It's not unusual for foster care to step in before next of kin can be found, and with your wife missing...." He let the threat dangle.  
  
Lewis' aim wavered. He tried to pull the trigger, but every muscle had frozen in place.  
  
"Now, if you're done waving that toy around," the man continued, "I believe your son is expecting me." He shoved past Lewis and went upstairs.  
  
Lewis couldn't move until he heard the door shut upstairs. But every step he tried to take in that direction left him frozen again. He finally dropped to the floor and tried to block out the sound of Leonard screaming... of that sick bastard _sating_ himself on the boy.  
  
Tried, and failed miserably.  
  
Damn that kid, why didn't he fight back?  
  
Lewis fumbled through the mess on the counter to search for his phone and dialed a number from memory. He knew what he had to do. There was a promise he had to keep, a promise he should've kept a long time ago... a promise he never should have made in the first place.  
  
"Darkh?" he said when the other end stopped ringing. "I'll give you what you want. Just... please, just call off your pet. _Please_."

—CONFESSIONS—

They were not _all_ nightmares. There were good memories, as well, some few pleasant dreams mixed in. Gideon paid extra attention to those ones, and guided Leonard's mind towards them even as the AI continued to force more distance from the nightmares.  
  
His mother introducing Lisa to him when she was born. Leonard had held the infant in his hands, amazed at how tiny she was, even compared to his own scrawny body, and he had promised then and there that he would always protect her.  
  
Meeting Amber, and her willingness to help him get rid of stolen property his father had dumped off on him, without ever asking a single question. Visiting her shop nearly every week since, the treats she provided to him and Lisa.  
  
Being invited to join her and some of the neighborhood kids to watch the entire Star Wars trilogy. Even the kids who would normally have picked on him were nice, because he was friends with Amber. Even when Lisa fell asleep halfway through the second movie, and Leonard dropped off soon after, the other kids had taken their cue from Amber and let the two sleep undisturbed.  
  
In truth, _any_ memory with Amber was a happy memory, even when it shouldn't have been. There had been enough times that simply knowing she would feed them, after their father had spent his entire paycheck at yet another bar, was enough for the two to be glad to see her.  
  
Even the sad memories were strangely happy, like when Amber's friend Michael had come to visit. Lisa had giggled shyly when Michael had spoken to them, and whispered loudly that his accent sounded a lot like Doctor Who, one of the shows Amber watched with them when they were over.  
  
Michael had crinkled his nose at Lisa's observation, somehow both exasperated and amused at the same time, and he had gone off to talk to Amber alone for a few minutes.  
  
He had been sad when he'd arrived, but he was sad and angry when he left. When Leonard asked later why he'd been upset, Amber had told him that Michael had wanted to take them away from their father, but it was _because_ of their father that his own laws wouldn't allow it. Because of their father, and because it would be too dangerous, though she had never explained why.  
  
Leonard had nodded, trusting her completely and accepting her admittedly vague explanation exactly as she had given it. Amber couldn't take them away from their father, either, no matter how much the boy wished she would. _He_ didn't care about those laws, didn't understand why they should prevent Amber from taking them when she already took care of them so well, but he understood that she could get in trouble for doing what she wasn't supposed to. She was always sad when the subject came up, and Leonard didn't like making her sad, so he had learned long ago to stop asking about it.

—CONFESSIONS—

"Are you feeling refreshed, Mr. Snart?" Gideon asked.  
  
Leonard blinked a few times, stretched, and rolled over to sit up. "I think.... 'refreshed' would be stretching the definition a bit much," he mumbled. "But I don't feel like I've come down with a case of narcolepsy. That's an improvement, at least." Not much of an improvement, though; he didn't feel tired because he was completely numb.  
  
"That isn't strictly how narcolepsy works," Gideon said. _As you know perfectly well_ , the AI's exasperated tone said.  
  
Leonard tried to shake off the last traces of sleep. "I'm not going to have to put up with that _every_ time we time travel, am I?" he asked. He ignored the AI's attempt to correct him.  
  
"I cannot guarantee it won't happen again, but it is not likely to be a serious problem," Gideon replied. "The lethargy you experienced was one of the rarest side effects of time travel. Specifically, it is your body's effort to _protect_ you from a more severe effect, just as the symptoms of certain diseases are caused by your body fighting off that disease. Your profile shows that you are particularly adept at recovery, and at adapting after even a single experience; there are exceptions, of course, but you should not have as much difficulty with subsequent trips, even on longer jumps. Furthermore, now that we know you are susceptible to this particular effect, we can prepare for it in advance and protect you against it should it continue to be severe."  
  
"Protect... you mean like you did with my dreams?" He smirked. "Don't think I didn't notice you messing around in my head."  
  
"My apologies, Mr. Snart." The AI's tone sounded genuinely remorseful. "I should have gotten your permission first, but you _did_ ask for help. Since I could not provide you with any useful medication for the purpose, I had thought distancing you from the _emotional_ aspect might—"  
  
"Thank you," Leonard whispered.  
  
The silence stretched on for a long time.  
  
"You're welcome," the AI said. "If you like, I can teach you the technique I used. Given enough practice, you should be able to prevent your own nightmares without any kind of treatment or other aid."  
  
"Hmm.... I've never put much stock in lucid dreaming," he admitted. "But... yes. If it helps that much, then I would like to learn how to do what you did."  
  
"Of course," Gideon replied. "I can begin the lessons the next time you sleep. In the meantime, do you feel up to rejoining the team? I had to seal the door to prevent them from walking in on you and potentially disturbing your sleep. I believe they would appreciate knowing that you've now recovered."  
  
Leonard's mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile. "Recovered" wasn't the word he would have chosen, either, but he _did_ feel a little better. He nodded and stood up.  
  
Then he hesitated. "Gideon, that one dream? With my father and that...." he shuddered, "that other one?"  
  
The silence lasted much longer this time. "I'm afraid that wasn't my doing," Gideon finally admitted, before Leonard could decide how to phrase his question. "There is nothing in your profile to explain it. I am sorry, Mr. Snart, but I don't know what it was."  
  
"That's all right," Leonard said. "I don't know either. But I had to ask."  
  
He allowed his memory to guide his footsteps as he mulled over that dream. That one had disturbed him in a way that none of his nightmares had ever done before.  
  
What _was_ that dream? He remembered that day too well, just like the first time; that day had been the last time that monster had touched him before... well, like he'd told Sara, he didn't remember _anything_ of the next few months.  
  
But what about that conversation between his father and that monster? That part had _felt_ real, felt like a true memory, not at all the usual illogic of dreams, but he couldn't remember anything like that happening between them.  
  
Had he overheard them talking back then and just never realized it? And whatever they'd been talking about, whatever _deal_ his father had made about him and Lisa, or so the dream had claimed....  
  
He just couldn't make any sense of it.  
  
"Leonard!" Sara said, nearly bumping into him as she paced around the bridge. "Hey, are you feeling okay?"  
  
He blinked at her, still caught up in his thoughts. He shook his head again to clear it. "Um..." He glanced around the bridge. Jefferson was trying not to stare at him, and Mick was absorbed in some television show. "If I say yes," he replied, pitching his voice to be sure Mick heard him, "do I get my weapons back?"  
  
Mick grunted. "I'll think about it," he replied.  
  
Sara frowned. "What was that about, anyway?" she muttered.  
  
"How the hell should I know?" Leonard muttered back as he followed her and settled himself in to wait for the rest of the team. " _Mick's_ the one who keeps doing that to me." He twirled a finger in the universal sign for "crazy."  
  
Sara chuckled. "Yeah, but only because you're safe enough here without them, right?" She began pacing again.  
  
Leonard rolled his eyes at the sight; to think, Mick thought _he_ was bad when he got restless. But the thief was enjoying watching the assassin move too much to complain. "One of our targets managed to grab me," he replied, "because Mick thought leaving me defenseless in the middle of a heist was a good idea. Trust me, _safe_ has nothing to do with it."  
  
"If you hadn't been making so much noise about wanting to kill Mardon," Mick said, "they never would have known we were there."  
  
Jefferson gave the two thieves a puzzled look. "Mardon?" he echoed. " _Mark_ Mardon? The Weather Wizard? Why'd you want to kill _him_?"  
  
"Who the hell knows?" Mick replied. "Len thinks _I'm_ crazy, but he was the one rambling about weather control, how this freak was going to take out the whole city with a tidal wave...." He shrugged. "Len was sick, all right? Completely delirious."  
  
"But I thought Mardon owed you for keeping him off Lian Yu," Sara said. "You two have a falling out or something?"  
  
Leonard shook his head. "No, this was before...." He frowned. "Before I even _met_ him. How...."  
  
"Like I said, _delirious_." Mick turned back to the TV, already bored with the conversation. "Why does this stupid station play nothing but reruns?" he complained.  
  
"Don't even _bother_ trying to explain," Jefferson said.  
  
Sara stopped pacing for a moment. "Am I the only one on this ship who could really use a drink?" she asked, jarring Leonard back out of his confused memories. "I say we go get _weird_ in the 70's."  
  
"Excellent idea," Leonard said, smiling up at her. Whatever Gideon thought he needed, he felt like he'd go completely stir-crazy if he didn't get off the ship for a little while. Assuming sheer boredom didn't make him pass out again. Another side effect, maybe, or perhaps a lingering one... or maybe it was just the fact that he'd never really felt comfortable in any sort of confinement.  
  
"I got the perfect outfit," Sara said quietly, returning the smile with a _very_ interesting look in her eyes.  
  
Leonard watched her walk away for a moment before he decided he'd imagined that look. But a few drinks with the assassin should be harmless enough... as harmless as anything involving a League assassin could possibly be.  
  
"Perhaps Captain Hunter was unclear with his instructions to remain on board," Gideon warned as the group left the bridge.  
  
"Shut it, metal mouth," Mick grumbled.  
  
Leonard stopped when he realized the kid was following close behind. "Oh, you're not quite ready to run with this crew," he said. Jefferson was technically of legal age—especially in this era, nearly a decade before the drinking act existed and most states set their own age limit—but Leonard wasn't about to take responsibility for taking him bar-hopping. " _Sorry_ , kid."  
  
"Wait, you're just going to leave me here?" Jefferson protested.  
  
"I said I'd take care of you," Leonard replied.  
  
Jefferson huffed in annoyance, but he didn't follow them out.  
  
"If you _must_ head out," Gideon said in what Leonard imagined sounded like petulant resignation, "at least take a set of comms so we can stay in touch in case of emergency."  
  
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Mick said.  
  
"And _try_ not to cause any trouble," Gideon added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linked Stories:  
> Why Ruve and Darkh are involved will be explored in Majummed, and is also hinted at in Majummed's Earth Two Bio (found on deviantArt http://fav.me/daip8cj ).  
> Darkh's involvement is also suggested in Captain Cold and the Legion of Doom (in which Darkh insists that Len is his "property").  
> The time Len wanted to kill Mardon was mentioned in chapter 3 of this very fic and is also explained in the first four chapters of Flash Sideways (which spans Flash Season 1 episodes Out of Time and Rogue Time). The reason Mick insists on disarming Len during such moments is also mentioned in Flash Sideways, and will be explained in further detail in the prequel fic What Could Have Been.

**Author's Note:**

> I had another tag I wanted to use, I can't seem to remember what it was....
> 
> A note on character ages (it will come up in a few chapters):  
> From what I've seen, the show tends to use the actors' own birthdates to indicate character ages. I'm fine with that, it makes it a lot easier when the subject actually comes up.... however, not all characters have their birthdates specified anywhere in canon or official character bios. Case in point, Lisa.  
> In reality, Wentworth Miller and Peyton List were born some fourteen years apart. However, my fics tend to assume a much smaller age gap between their respective characters.  
> There are two fairly easy ways to work around that, particularly given how small of an age gap some of my scenes require: perhaps their mother was already pregnant when Lewis went to prison for the first time... or, given Len's remark in Blood Ties about how killing Lewis then and there would prevent Lisa from being born (he might not have made the distinction as Leo, but as an adult Len could certainly do the math), she was more likely conceived during a conjugal visit.


End file.
